


we'll be a fine line

by yeahloads



Series: you drive me crazy [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Assistant Director Jeff, Boys Kissing, M/M, Pornstar Harry Styles, Unrequited Crush, or at least Jeff thinks, purple fuzzy bathrobe, what a helpful and readily available tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:14:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21988621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeahloads/pseuds/yeahloads
Summary: Harry needs a fluffer. Jeff steps in to help him, as his civic duty. Even though his crush on Harry can be seen from space.Or, a Hazoff Porn AU
Relationships: Jeff Azoff/Harry Styles
Series: you drive me crazy [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1615534
Comments: 13
Kudos: 69





	we'll be a fine line

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, some background. I don't know how/why this 'verse started, but it exists now and there's no going back. Harry is a pornstar (after making his debut on a casting couch and nearly giving Jeff a heart attack). Jeff is an assistant director (to Ben Winston) at the studio Harry works for. Jeff is half in love with Harry, and Harry is an oblivious, good-hearted idiot. Friends-to-idiots-to-lovers. Will hopefully have more parts soon. 
> 
> Originally posted on [Patreon](https://www.patreon.com/harryseyebrows). Come say hi on [tumblr](https://harryseyebrows.tumblr.com/). And a special thank you to Jasmine for inspiring this scene and letting me word vomit it via Whatsapp <3

“No. Absolutely not.”

“Come on. I know you want to,” Justin, one of the sound guys, says with a smirk. 

“Be _quiet_ ,” Jeff whisper yells. “That’s—just be quiet. Literally anyone else on set can do it.”

Justin turns like he’s about to actually go find someone before Jeff stops him. “Jesus Christ. Never mind. I’ll do it,” he says, pointedly ignoring the Justin’s smugness. 

With a deep breath, Jeff steels himself. He stands up a little taller. Rolls his shoulders a bit. He’s a _professional_. He makes porn for a living. He deals with stuff like this every day. It’s not his fault that Harry is disturbingly charming and funny and beautiful and makes everyone fall in love with him. 

Usually he doesn’t have an issue with other people touching Harry, firstly because Harry isn’t his, but secondly and more importantly, it’s part of Harry’s job. Jeff likes to think that he’s built up an immunity to it now, after almost an entire year since Harry first sat on the casting couch and sent Jeff’s life tailspinning into chaos and an overabundance of sexual frustration. But today, in the absence of a fluffer, Jeff is willing to trample all over his carefully constructed boundaries and the last shreds of his self-preservation. 

Like he’s walking to the guillotine, Jeff makes the journey over to the bed where Harry is lounging: purple fuzzy bathrobe loosely draped over him (not for modesty but because he’s prone to getting cold), one long leg propped up and open unashamedly, scrolling through his phone. 

“Uh. Need a hand?” Jeff asks, because it’s the exact type of corniness that Harry enjoys.

Harry’s eyes meet his, dimples taking over both cheeks. He locks his phone and tosses it to the other side of the bed. “Could do,” he says. “Mine are freezing. I think if I touched my dick right now it would shrink back up inside of me and never come out again.” 

Jeff snorts. An actual, totally undignified snort. He'd be more embarrassed about it if Harry didn’t look so pleased, smiling widely, simply because Jeff laughed at something he said. “Well. We can’t have that. You’re a very important person around here. The whole operation would crumble without you.”

Jeff is stalling—hovering next to the bed, shifting his weight from foot to foot. Either Harry doesn’t notice or he doesn’t mind, despite the fact that his dick is totally soft now, resting in the crease of his hip. 

“Mm, yes. That’s why I took out an insurance policy on my arse,” Harry says. 

With a shake of his head and a poorly repressed smile, Jeff finally sits on the edge of the bed. His palms are sweating, so he rubs them over his jeans. No one wants clammy hands on their dick. 

“So. Uhm. How do you want to do this?” Jeff asks, inspecting an _incredibly_ interesting blue stain on the sheets. 

“Well, a kiss first might be nice. Since you’re not buying me a drink or dinner first.” Harry’s tone is casual, but also a little guarded, too, despite his eyebrow waggle. Jeff worries briefly that the crew put him up to it, but no one on set is paying them any mind right now, surprisingly. Besides, Harry isn’t like that. He apologized to a pigeon the other day for walking too close to it. 

So, Jeff doesn’t think too hard about it before he leans down in the general direction of Harry’s mouth and closes his eyes. Doesn’t think about how this is decidedly _not_ how fluffing usually works. Doesn’t think about how if this _does_ turn out to be a cruel joke, he’ll have no idea how to make up an excuse for himself. Because he _does_ want to kiss Harry—he wishes it were under literally any other circumstances, but he can’t deny it. 

Their lips meet so gently that Jeff isn’t sure if they’re touching at all, but when he briefly cracks one eye open, he’s assaulted by the blurry image of Harry’s face right in front of his own, all dark brows and thick lashes. Then, he feels the slightest trace of tongue along his bottom lip— _Harry’s_ tongue—and he opens instinctively, his body taking over as his brain goes into meltdown mode. But Harry doesn’t lick into his mouth like he’s expecting, like the way Jeff has seen him kiss countless other people. Instead, it’s fleeting, replaced quickly by his warm lips moving over Jeff’s, delicately leading, but yielding when Jeff decides to be an active participant and take Harry’s bottom lip between both of his own, sucking softly. 

After another few moments—simultaneously too long and not long enough—they part with a wet noise, Harry’s lips now redder than usual. The skin around his mouth is slightly pink, too. 

Before Jeff can apologize for the beard burn, Harry smiles and says, “That was nice.”

Jeff’s chest swells up a bit. It _was_ nice. He wants to do it again right away and maybe forever? But someone on set yelling “five more minutes!” snaps him back to the reality of their current situation. 

However, a quick glance down makes Jeff’s head nearly explode. Harry’s hard again. From kissing Jeff. His dick is flushed and jutting elegantly out of his pelvis, the head peeking out of his foreskin and glistening at the slit and _God_ , all Jeff did was _kiss him_ a bit. 

In Jeff’s own pants, he’s valiantly ignoring a similar situation. But it’s easier masked by his black jeans and a well-placed leg cross. He just has to think about gross things and it’ll go away: toenail clippings, spider eggs, rotten milk. Except Harry is still looking at him, his green eyes wide and full of a gentle sort of excitement. 

“Yes. Yeah,” Jeff finally manages to say. “It was...good. Great, even. One-hundred percent.” 

Harry giggles. “I’m glad you think so. You were very helpful.” To illustrate his point, he takes himself in hand, stroking slowly from root to tip, pausing at the head to squeeze a bit, forcing a drop of wetness out that slides onto his fingers. 

“I, uhm. Do you need—uh. Do you want me to do that?” Jeff asks, and because he always knows how to ruin things, he adds, “That’s why they sent me over here.”

Harry’s smile only falters for a second. “You don’t have to. I’m good now. You’ve sufficiently fluffed me, Jeffrey dear.” 

Jeff’s fingers are trembling, so he slips them under his own thighs. He wants nothing more than to reach out and touch Harry. Just send everyone home so they have the place to themselves. Or better yet, him and Harry could get out of here and go back to one of their places, to use a real bed that doesn’t have a plastic slip cover underneath and hasn’t been covered in literal buckets of come. He wants to give the most reverent rimjob of his life, if rimming can be reverent, because Harry deserves it. He wants to trace over every inch of his beautiful skin, appreciate each mark and freckle, and hold him close to keep him warm. All of those things and more. 

Jeff doesn’t tell him any of that. Instead, he says, “Okay,” and walks away when Ben calls him back over to the camera. 

“Is he ready to go again?” Ben asks. Strictly business, as always. Like Jeff isn’t having a silent breakdown. 

“Yeah. He’s good.”

“Aaron. _Where_ is Aaron? I'm losing my patience, people! Can someone please find our other actor so we can finish this scene some time this century?” 

A few people scramble and start searching. Jeff stays right where he is, though, eyes on the floor with the heat of Harry’s lips still seared into his own. When he looks up, Harry’s still in his same spot from before, bathrobe tugged more securely around himself, looking at Jeff with furrowed brows and an expression Jeff can’t place. 

Jeff looks away quickly, letting his eyes bounce around the room like he isn’t paying attention. But it’s too late, because Harry clearly noticed. He drops his eyes as his face crumples for a second and Jeff is about to walk back over and apologize for being weird when Aaron rejoins them finally, traipsing in like he wasn’t just MIA. 

He flops down carelessly onto the bed with Harry, stretching out on his back and tucking his arms beneath his head. “Ready to be my slutty step-brother again?” 

Harry laughs, a quick puff of air. A few people on set chuckle, too. 

Ben claps, loudly enough that everyone directs their attention to him. “Vacation is over, ladies. Aaron, you’re standing for his next bit. And Harry, you’re on hands and knees. Let’s go, people!” 

Jeff swallows. And pretends that every fiber of his being isn’t fraying apart as he watches Harry do his job. 


End file.
